


Party of Flutes.

by thewolfsbane



Series: Little bits. [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, finger fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfsbane/pseuds/thewolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Molly's 31st Birthday and Sherlock is seen eyeing up John who sit's across the room from him. </p><p>John is in need for something physical and Sherlock is happy to provide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party of Flutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Another one shot for my series 'Little Bits'. Lemme know what you think!

John was not one for parties. In fact, if an invite ever surfaced, he would oft turn it down. The idea of having to force conversation with people and drown oneself in alcohol wasn’t exactly a fun time to John.

Molly had kindly (or annoyingly to John) invited him to her thirty first birthday party, where she had invited a group of unexpectedly upbeat and lively men and woman to help her celebrate. Molly was morbid at the best of times, so seeing such a dynamic group of people at her house was rather a surprise to John.

John was lucky enough to live one a few streets away from Molly, so he walked in the cold British air. He waltzed up to her front door, before knocking on it and adjusting his collar nervously.

“John!” Molly smiled, smelling slightly of cheap wine as she leant forward and hugged him.

“Hi, Molly. Happy birthday.” John said, his face resting on her shoulder, balancing a small vase in his hand whilst his other wrapped around her waist.

John didn’t know what to buy a woman, or anyone in fact. He took a neutral stance and brought her a vase of dull coloured roses that looked as though the florist had left them in the sun for a few hours then sold them to the stupidest customer, which happened to be John (of course).

“Come in! You’re right on time.” She disappeared back into the house, leaving the door open to welcome him in. John stepped into the invitingly warm home to find countless bodies mingling and drinking on flutes of champagne. Molly reappeared with a small flute and gave it to John; his fingers jumping at the coldness of the glass spine.

The majority of the night, John found himself sunk in the corner or sitting in a chair attempting to hide himself out from the chatter with people he did not know. John did however spot a young man, with a slender face, glaring at him from across the room. The mans lips were plump and his jaw structure was impeccable; and a head full of curls. The two’s eyes met a few times, but John thought nothing of it until Molly bounded over to sit beside John.

“I see Sherlock’s been eying you up. I was hoping you’d meet him.” She smiled, nudging John’s shoulder playfully.

“Sherlock? I haven’t met anyone by the name.” John replied.

“Well, it looks like you have. He’s been staring at you all night. I thought you must have met.”

John realised this Sherlock that Molly spoke of was in fact the man that had indeed been watching him across the room all night. John licked his lips and tucked a loose whisp of hair behind his ear, reminding him almost immediately that he needed to cut his hair when he got home.

John sent a smile over to Sherlock, who eagerly reciprocated in return.

“He’s open for anything with-“ Molly laughed.

“I mean he’s gay. That’s why I was hoping you’d meet, you know, because you are-”

“Molly, don’t. I don’t want people to hear. You’re the only one I’ve told. Plus, I’m not looking for anything at the moment, you know this. Jesus Molly.” John butted in, wide eyed and concerned at Molly’s forgetful tongue. John placed his flute on the side table next to where he sat.

“Oh, right, sorry. But I was talking to him before he arrived. He said he was looking for someone, and it might have slipped that I invited my gay friend John…oh please don’t be mad.” Molly confessed, looking worried into John’s eyes. John was a kind soul, not often he would snap or be mad.

“Its okay, Molly.” He smiled, patting her on the shoulder.

She grinned.

“Sherlock!” Molly called, beckoning him over.

John’s face dropped into a nervous grimace. He glared at Molly up and down before slightly growling at her. He watched in furiousness as the now apparently tall Sherlock rose from his chair in the other side of the room and sauntered over to the pair. Molly couldn’t help but nervously giggle at the look John depicted on his face. She rested her hand on John’s lap reassuringly before standing up to greet Sherlock; John following also.

“Hey Sherlock!” Molly beamed, the look on her face so annoyingly cute and sly.

“This is my friend, John.”

Sherlock extended his long, slender fingers towards John. For a moment, John just looked at the sheer beauty of Sherlock’s hands. Never once before had John seen such fine hands, such striking hands. The bones of his knuckles stuck out ever so slightly, defining the absolute slimness of the fingers. John delighted in shaking such a fine hand; and he did so.

“Sherlock.” John nodded.

“John.” Sherlock replied.

Sherlock remained impeccably composed for someone who, only moments ago, was staring at John in a dorky manner from across the room as if in a cheesy romance film.

“Oh, yes, I must go to the kitchen, yes. Yes, I must.” Molly unsubtly blurted out, before clambering her way towards the kitchen, looking back every so often as if Sherlock would pounce on John right there and then.

“What do you do, John?” Sherlock began.

“I am a doctor.” John sighed, swooping his flute off of the table, began to skull the champagne nervously.

“Molly told me that you’d be coming.”

“Yes, she said she spoke to you about me.” John murmured frustratingly.

“Oh,” Sherlock cleared his throat.

“She did?”

“She did. Anyway, Sherlock, it was a pleasure to meet you.” John cowered.

“You can’t leave already.” Sherlock protested.

“I’m not leaving, I just don’t want to give you the impression that I am looking for something.”

Sherlock sighed and scratched the back of his head.

“I see.”

And at that, John walked to the kitchen in search of another flute. He needed some alcohol.

John was reeling. He craved physical attention now he had met Sherlock; and those hands did not help either. But he had promised himself, since his return from Afghanistan nine months as an army doctor, he would like to stay low and get settled before rushing into a relationship. But it had indeed been nine months. Was that enough of staying low?

The night continued; candles were lit and snuffed out. John had had four flutes of champagne. This was hardly enough to get John drunk, but sufficient to make him feel more comfortable around the vibrant strangers. At around one in the morning, people began to file out the door and into cabs; most fumbling to walk. John was the only one to seem to be walking straight. At least John knew the equipoise between having fun and being responsible.

John strolled only a few steps before he felt a presence sink next to him.

“Why are you not going in a cab?” It was Sherlock.

“I only live a little while away, thank you.”

“Look, John.” Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulder and turned him around to face Sherlock.

“I was fighting off every little urge tonight that was making me want to ask you to leave with me. I was half hoping I’d walk out of that place to have you accidently trip over me and laugh at me so I had a reason to talk to you, but I find you walking home alone instead. I thought, heck, if I am going to get anything I want in life, I have to take the initiative and ask for it.” Sherlock spoke; the words rolling so gently off his tongue.

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I only just met you, and I am not one to just _swoop_ in and get the first thing I see.” John replied cautiously, even though his body was screaming yes.

Suddenly Sherlock stepped forward, so his jacket touched John’s and their noses were only a few inches away from each other. John felt the heat of Sherlock’s breath seep down his collar.

“I know you need it, John. I can see it in your body.”

Sherlock gently edged his hand up onto John’s neck before pulling John’s mouth close to his; grazing ever so slightly.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” Sherlock whispered huskily. But John did not respond, he only looked into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He repeated, running his thumb along John’s jawline and across his bottom lip. John found his hand browsing Sherlock’s stomach and hips. They got teasingly close, their breath hitting together in mid-air. John did not flounder as he expected he would, but merely leant further forward, pressing his lips on Sherlock’s. John’s hand intertwined with Sherlock’s as it caressed John’s cheekbones. Sherlock felt the pain John expressed in his kiss. He felt how much John needed this after everything that had happened in his past.

And Sherlock was more than happy to provide the peace that John needed.


End file.
